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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550343">Blacklist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Rose1215/pseuds/Belle_Rose1215'>Belle_Rose1215</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Conspiracy, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Crack, F/M, Mentions of Suicide, Romance, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:09:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Rose1215/pseuds/Belle_Rose1215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"They will beat and bend you until there's nothing left." Christine Daae, a young orphan with no direction, falls into a plot far deeper and more violent than she could have imagined in her quest to find something bigger than herself. Along with her mysterious new companion she uproots an underbelly beyond her wildest imagination. Modern AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christine tucked her frizzy hair behind her ear and adjusted her shirt nervously. Being looked at had always made her nervous; she thrived in solitude.</p><p>There was a low murmur of conversation. She listened to the click of glasses on the bar top. Someone in the back of the room was already a bit too intoxicated; she could nearly make out every loud and jovial word he spoke from the short stage she was in the middle of.</p><p>When she shifted, the stool she sat on tilted dangerously and she held the acoustic guitar across her lap tightly, blushing.</p><p>It was one man in particular that stared at her. He sat with his back to the bar, clutching a glass filled with an amber liquor in his long, thin fingers.</p><p>He stood out in the crowd. He was tall and thin, alone. He was quiet and focused.</p><p>Christine smiled softly at him. He was relatively attractive; his face was a little thin, a little pale, but she didn't mind that. She was pale as a ghost.</p><p>He gave no reciprocation to her smile, he simply lifted the glass to his thin lips and took a long, slow drink.</p><p>Christine looked down at the guitar in her lap and finally, she strummed it.</p><p>She had done well enough to land a small gig here and there, but she still didn't feel comfortable with it yet. She blushed when she sang her own lyrics, the ones that she couldn't help but feel were too cheesy, her chord progressions were clumsy and she knew that anyone with any amount of training was sure to know exactly what a hack she was.</p><p>It was pleasant enough to be a cheap background sound to drunk patrons, and even though it wasn't enough to live off of, something about getting paid for her music made her heart soar.</p><p>He was still staring at her. It was unnerving.</p><p>Christine managed to mostly ignore him until her set ended, even though he seemed to be determined to make sure that she knew he was looking. He stared at her, completely unashamed. She wasn't even sure if he blinked.</p><p>When her set was over, she sat the guitar gently in its case that was definitely worse-for-wear and looked back toward him. He had turned back to the bar, and she frowned, hefting the guitar case up and pushing through the tables that she was sure were too close together to be up to fire code.</p><p>She slid onto the empty stool beside him and he tilted his face toward her, never actually looking at her.</p><p>The bartender was a pretty, young blonde woman and she smiled kindly at Christine.</p><p>"Add her to my tab," the man beside her said. His voice was smooth and rich and now it was Christine's turn to stare at him. "Whatever she wants."</p><p>The bartender smiled at Christine, lifting one eyebrow. "Must've sung your way right into his heart," she teased. "James is a notorious penny-pincher."</p><p>"And Amy is a notorious liar," he said, finally looking at Christine. "I'm not cheap. I just know what I like. What are you drinking?"</p><p>"Oh," she replied stupidly. She wasn't really sure what she was supposed to read into his words and she really wasn't much of a drinker. "Uhm... rum and coke?"</p><p>His smile was amused. "Midwest," he commented. "It's been a while. I've been meaning to travel out that way. Tell me, what's worth seeing?"</p><p>"Not much," she admitted, her smile shy. "Fall, I guess. Nothing is as pretty as a midwest Autumn."</p><p>He hummed, turning his short glass and tearing the napkin under it. "A colorful season," he said thoughtfully, sipping at his drink. "I expected as much."</p><p>"Too predictable?"</p><p>"The perfect amount of predictability , actually," he answered easily. "Surprises can be rather boring and dull... there's nothing wrong with predictable. What's your name?"</p><p>Christine bit the inside of her lip, taking her glass from the jovial bartender that offered her a wink. "Amber," she answered, staring at the color of her drink.</p><p>"You're lying."</p><p>The words were flat, serious, and Christine looked at him in surprise. "What?"</p><p>His smile was knowing. He turned his glass on the table again, staring at the steadily melting ice cube. "You're lying," he repeated easily, his tone almost amused. "That isn't your name."</p><p>"How would you know?" she asked defensively.</p><p>"I just know," he chuckled. "Perhaps you aren't as predictable as you seem. How long have you been playing?"</p><p>Christine sipped at her drink carefully. "Long enough," she answered, wiping at the condensation on the glass with her thumb. "And I've been singing even longer. What about you, huh? What's your name?"</p><p>"Erik," he answered simply. "You have a lovely voice."</p><p>"Thanks," she murmured, sipping at her glass and trying to hide the way she cringed at the burn. The bartender was obviously a heavy pour and Christine wasn't much of a drinker at all when it came down to it.</p><p>His laugh was warm. "You didn't have to order alcohol if you don't like it," he pointed out. "I would just as happily buy you a plain coke."</p><p>"I like it fine," she lied, forcing herself to take another sip.</p><p>He hummed just as warmly as he laughed. "You are very bad at lying for someone who seems so fond of doing it," he murmured. "I find it intriguing."</p><p>"I'm beginning to find you insufferable," she bit back.</p><p>"You wouldn't be the first," he answered easily. "That was honest, at least."</p><p>"You're a bad liar too, you know," Christine pointed out, feeling the redness in her cheeks. "Which is it, Erik or James?"</p><p>He took a long, slow drink from his glass and when it was emptied, he set it on the bar top, pushing it toward the inside edge. "So you do pay attention," he said slowly. "It depends on the day of the week."</p><p>"Seems pretty sketchy for you to be using a fake name when you're obviously a regular."</p><p>"I am?" he asked, looking amused. "Tell me something else that I don't know about myself, sweetheart."</p><p>Christine drained the rest of her glass with a long drink, trying to find anything to blame the redness in her cheeks on other than him. "Does this work often?" she asked, stifling a reflexive cough.</p><p>"Does what work?"</p><p>"The douchebag act," she explained. "How many women does it actually work on?"</p><p>He huffed another laugh. "Who said I was trying to pick you up?"</p><p>"Oh, fuck off," she said, surprised at how easily the words came. "It's textbook. Backhanded compliments, gas lighting... you're trying to take me home. Being a bad liar doesn't mean I'm an idiot."</p><p>For the first time, his smile was almost sad instead of smug. "You are a beautiful woman and you do have a lovely voice," he said eventually. "I didn't intend for my compliments to be ingenuine."</p><p>Christine pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to force away the lightheadedness of too much liquor too fast away. "Thanks," she sighed.</p><p>"Maybe a regular coke next, huh?" he asked, sounding slightly concerned.</p><p>She nodded slowly, resting her arms against the table. "Thanks," she repeated, staring at the green glass bottle of liquor on the shelf behind the bar.</p><p>"It works on a few," he answered eventually. "Never for more than a night. It fails on just as many. People don't come to a place like this looking for a real connection."</p><p>"I just came to sing," she pointed out. "It won't work on me."</p><p>The next drink he bought her really was a plain coke and, to her surprise, he didn't even tease her about it. As the minutes wore on his attitude seemed to shift and change and, one more plain coke in, she actually found herself enjoying his company.</p><p>"I really was trying to take you home," he murmured honestly, leaning against the bar top on one elbow.</p><p>She hid her smile behind the rim of her glass. "I might let you," she confessed.</p><p>"You think so, hm?"</p><p>He blinked when she looked at him and she only just managed to catch the movement, the blue of his contacts shifting just slightly.</p><p>Yellow eyes.</p><p>She smiled as sweetly as she could manage. It was the entire purpose, after all. "I think I'd like that."</p>
<hr/><p>It was nothing particularly impressive. The house was small with generic blue siding and the plot of land it sat on wasn't much bigger, teetering just on the edge of overgrown.</p><p>Somehow, she knew that she was exactly where she was supposed to be. If it was grandiose , she might have doubted her own intuition.</p><p>His kisses were warm and sloppy and if Christine was honest, she enjoyed them a little too much. When his hand groped for her breast, she was careful to guide it away from the small dagger tucked in her bra, letting herself moan as he pushed her back against the plain white front door.</p><p>It would be quick and clean. That was what she promised herself as his suddenly clumsy hands fumbled with his nondescript keys.</p><p>The inside of the house wasn't much more impressive than the outside. Plain white walls and generic hardwood floors, it wasn't hard to pick up on the fact that he was a transient.</p><p>"Sit down, please," he offered, gesturing to the little leather couch against the wall in the front room.</p><p>She obeyed his invitation. The couch was clearly new and it was particularly comfortable. A transient with money. There was no doubt in her mind at that point.</p><p>She wasn't sure why he turned his back to her but she took the opportunity, reaching for the holster on her calf. She had no more than unlatched it when she heard a click.</p><p>"Drop it."</p><p>The sound was familiar and she held her free hand where he could see it, sliding the little six-shot revolver out of the holster and setting it on the ground before she held her other hand out in just the same way.</p><p>"Every one is sloppier than the last," he murmured thoughtfully. "You were sent on a suicide mission. Put the rest down."</p><p>"That's it," she argued.</p><p>He sighed. "Don't make me strip search you. I'm not above it."</p><p>Out came the dagger, still in its sheath and tucked between her breasts, and out came the small pink semi-automatic handgun strapped under the edge of her flowy shirt.</p><p>"Cute," he commented, sounding halfway amused. "Is that it?"</p><p>"That's it," she confirmed honestly, her heart racing in her ribcage. Suddenly she was nauseous.</p><p>"Hands where I can see them," he instructed her. "Stand up and walk toward me backwards. I'm not going to pull this trigger unless you give me a reason to."</p><p>She obeyed him, her steps slow and steady, and the press of his hand against her back was what stopped her. "How did you know?" she whispered.</p><p>His touch was gentle but firm as he patted her down. "I've been living this reality for at least five years," he answered, his hands running firmly along her hips. "You were too real. There's a fine line and you are not up to the idiocy they've roped you into yet."</p><p>Christine swallowed thickly as his hands ran against her inner thighs. "Are you going to kill me?"</p><p>"I haven't decided," he answered thoughtfully, finally making it to her ankles. "If I don't they will... I find myself tired. Put your hands down, sweetheart. You're good."</p><p>She let her hands drop hesitantly, playing with the edge of her shirt nervously as he stepped around her and collected the weapons off of the dark wood floors. "What now?" she asked.</p><p>"What now indeed," he answered, turning the dagger over in his hands. "Sit down. If you run I'll find you and I'II have no choice but to pull the trigger."</p><p>She sat hesitantly on the edge of the couch and he left the room with every form of protection she had in his hands.</p><p>When he came back, he only had his own black glock in his hand. He turned it over and looked at it thoughtfully before he made his way to the couch she sat on, kneeling in front of her on the floor while she swallowed hard.</p><p>He guided her hands around the gun that was much heavier than her own and pressed the barrel of it to his own temple.</p><p>"Go ahead," he said softly. "It's what you came for, right?"</p><p>Her hands were trembling and the way he stared at her was incredibly unnerving.</p><p>"What is your name?" he asked again after a long moment, his long fingers wrapping around her hands to keep them steady.</p><p>"Christine," she answered, the word broken in her tight voice.</p><p>"Christine," he echoed warmly. "A lovely name. Have you ever killed a man before, Christine?"</p><p>"No," she admitted weakly.</p><p>He hummed. "Have you ever been hunting?"</p><p>She shook her head, and his laugh was a ghost of a thing.</p><p>"Shot a gun?"</p><p>"Yeah," she answered weakly.</p><p>Slowly, he was pushing the gun down between them, sliding it out from between her trembling hands. "It isn't even loaded," he said thoughtfully. "One of us will have to die to get out of this. Do you understand that?"</p><p>Her nod was lame, weak, and he sighed.</p><p>"You really dug yourself into a pickle," he commented, sitting back on the floor and running his thumb along the metal of the gun's handle. "I'm willing to be the one to die, Christine. I'm exhausted. But you'll have to earn it. At least I can teach you some things... make myself useful in some way."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>He only shook his head. "Until then, you're stuck with me. You need to hunt, sweetheart. It gets easier."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It began with a letter tucked into the mailbox in her shitty apartment lobby. There was no return address on it and her address wasn't even on it. When she took it into her apartment and opened the seal with her thumbnail, three crisp hundred dollar bills fluttered out.</p>
<p>There was a simple typed note inside, only two lines long. "Lovely voice. Take lessons."</p>
<p>Part of her wanted to report it; she went out once a month, drunkenly singing karaoke in a sea of people she didn't know, and it just so happened that was exactly where she had been the night before. She was convinced that she was being stalked; Christine spent a lot of time looking over her shoulder for the next few weeks. She tucked the bills into her pocket and used the little marker at work to make sure they weren't counterfeit.</p>
<p>Christine never caught anyone following her and the bills were as real as could be. The only thing that kept her from reporting it was the understanding that she would have to turn the money in if she did. Christine couldn't afford to turn the money in. Ever since her father had died, she found herself up to her neck in debt, barely keeping herself from drowning.</p>
<p>Another envelope came two weeks later, filled with more cash. Two weeks after that, there was another. It became routine; every two weeks, another mystery note with a small stipend. Another note asking her to sing, another filled with compliments. Eventually, she started doing what they asked. When she did, there was always more money in the next envelope.</p>
<p>She would never understand how it led her here, staring at a steaming coffee cup on a plain wooden table while Erik sat across from her, flipping her emptied revolver open and closed, open and closed obnoxiously.</p>
<p>"It's like a suicide pact," he offered eventually. "People still make those, don't they?"</p>
<p>Christine could cry. He had been searching for some sort of equivalence for the better part of the last hour to make her feel better about it all, and every one of them just horrified her more. She was an idiot. Why had she ever had the confidence to think that she could actually kill someone, let alone someone she didn't even know?</p>
<p>"Maybe not," he mumbled at her lack of answer. "I'll be the first to admit I've been out-of-touch... do you like venison, Christine?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," she groaned. "I don't think I've ever had it."</p>
<p>He dropped the revolver onto the table and leaned forward slightly. "We'll find out," he offered. "Deer are easiest, I think. Especially when you know it isn't a pointless death... you'll have to stay tonight. Walk of shame it in the morning. It needs to be as believable as possible. How do you communicate?"</p>
<p>Finally, she reached for the coffee cup, deciding that if he poisoned her she would probably be happy to die just about then. "Letters," she answered, blowing gently at the hot liquid. "I have no way to reach out to them."</p>
<p>"You have no contact?" he asked, sounding surprised. "Things really have changed."</p>
<p>"Just letters and money," she said, frowning. "There's never been an address on them and they're all typed... I'm an idiot, aren't I?"</p>
<p>"I think we both are or we wouldn't be here," he pointed out. "They're getting smarter. You nearly had me questioning myself. You were too unpolished. That's worrisome."</p>
<p>She stared into the coffee. "Do you know who they are?"</p>
<p>"You don't?" he laughed. "Who is it always? Who could possibly have access to every bit of your life, know your next move before you do?"</p>
<p>Christine only frowned, finally sipping at the bitter coffee. "What did you do that they want you dead so bad?"</p>
<p>"Retire," he answered easily. "After all of this is over you will have a contact. They'll mention retirement. It isn't actually an option... this will be the rest of your life until you're lucky enough to find a bullet in your head. Or brave enough to put it there yourself... I'm only beginning to understand why so many have."</p>
<p>She swallowed, staring into the coffee cup so that she didn't have to look at him. "I really screwed up, didn't I?"</p>
<p>His sigh was sad. "You could have had something better," he answered thoughtfully. "You could have had something normal... you'll be okay. It takes some adjustment. I'm bitter. It isn't all as horrific as I make it sound. It can even be exciting."</p>
<p>She sipped at her coffee again. "So I leave in the morning," she said nervously. "What then?"</p>
<p>"You'll come back," he answered, frowning. "I'll take you to dinner or... somewhere. If anyone does contact you, the answer is that you're gaining my trust. They won't want to intercept too quickly. No one has made it long enough to leave before."</p>
<p>Christine shivered, the situation only just hitting her. It wasn't a book or a movie or a game. She was sitting with a man that she had agreed to kill and God only knew how many he had murdered himself. When she opened her mouth to answer him, only a gasp escaped and she covered her mouth with both hands, trying to stop her world from the nauseous spin it had suddenly been thrown into.</p>
<p>His footsteps echoed in her head, and his hands were firm on her upper arm, pulling gently. Eventually, he coaxed her to her feet. "Too much talking," he said, his warm voice soothing. "Come on, Christine. It's been too much talking. You need to lay down."</p>
<p>She grasped his wrist tightly and he made no effort to break her hold, leading her down a short, boring hallway and into the room on the right, flipping the light on with his free hand.</p>
<p>"I don't sleep much," he commented. "The bed is yours for the night."</p>
<p>It was all utterly normal. Nothing about the room was out of the ordinary. The dresser and end table were black, the bedspread was navy blue, the walls and floor matched every other room in the house. Nothing about it screamed murderer. If she had been there under any other circumstances at all, she would find nothing at all to make her hesitant to fall into the bed.</p>
<p>"You're perfectly safe," he said soothingly. "No one is stupid enough to come in for you and I'm not coward enough to kill someone in their sleep; it's okay, Christine. You need to try not to think about it. Just for a little while."</p>
<p>"How am I supposed to do that?" she breathed, her hand tightening around his wrist.</p>
<p>He tilted her chin to the side with the edge of his pointer finger and shifted. His kiss was warm and surprisingly gentle.</p>
<p>She kissed him back, closing her eyes and trying to focus on the kiss instead of all of the things he told her; she focused on the warmth of his hand on her waist and the sound of his warm hum.</p>
<p>"Does that help?" he murmured, pulling back just far enough to ask the question.</p>
<p>"Yeah," she admitted, the word a sigh.</p>
<p>He brushed her hair back with two fingers and kissed her forehead gently. "It always helped me, too," he admitted quietly. "Lay down and close your eyes, Christine. Nothing can get you here."</p>
<p>The warm flutter deep in her stomach was unsettling and she decided that just once, just for that night, she would let herself blame it on the alcohol and stress.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She would never have another day without fighting the urge to look over her shoulder.</p>
<p>He fed her breakfast, toast with jam and hot coffee, and he kissed her deeply in the open doorway of his house, murmuring the name of a restaurant and a time in her ear before he pulled away, sliding her dagger back into it's place in her bra as he did, causing her to blush.</p>
<p>He kept her guns and she found herself grateful that he had given her anything back at all. Her paranoia was at an all time high and knowing that it was there brought her some small level of comfort.</p>
<p>She had no hairbrush and he wouldn't let her wash her face, insisting that the more of a mess she looked the better.</p>
<p>Believable. It was all about being believable.</p>
<p>'You're a terrible liar.'</p>
<p>She knew that she was, and of all the things that he had said to her, that was the one that still echoed as she left his house that morning. If any of his scheme failed, she was sure that she would be the reason.</p>
<p>It wasn't like she was going to give away someone's Christmas present or accidentally let it slip that a close friend was pregnant before they were ready to announce it; it was life or death in the most literal sense.</p>
<p>She would never forgive herself for her stupidity. Her father wouldn't have either. He raised her to be so much better than this.</p>
<p>Fifty thousand dollars sounded like a lot of money when she had none and the letters promised her that she would be free, no one would ever know.</p>
<p>When she made it back to her shitty hotel room the first thing she did was vomit. It was bitter and burned her throat and she might have gotten over it if it weren't for the fact that it did nothing to soothe her sour stomach. The second round came when she realized that she might've actually pulled the trigger if he hadn't caught her and made her actually think about it for a minute.</p>
<p>She wiped at the sweat on her brow and flushed the toilet, sitting there for a minute to make sure that she really was done.</p>
<p>She wondered how differently it might have gone if she had tried to pull the trigger on the gun she didn't know was unloaded when he held it to his own temple.</p>
<p>Christine had hardly slept the night before and she was sure that played into her lightheadedness. The bed was comfortable, the sheets were warm and soft, but she couldn't close her eyes for long enough to block out the sound of his pacing footsteps. Every so often she heard a metallic click and held her breath, sure that he had changed his mind and would burst into the room at any moment to assassinate her in her sleep.</p>
<p>He never did. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that he wouldn't. He was just restlessly playing with her revolver like he had been when he sat across from her at the kitchen table.</p>
<p>There was no option to run. She knew that more than she knew anything. Whatever she had tangled herself up in was so much more than her or Erik or even the letters and cash stuffed in her mailbox. She was in way over her head and she wasn't even sure what it actually was.</p>
<p>Expendable. If she ran, she was sure it would be a death sentence.</p>
<p>The shower helped her to feel slightly more human and she stood in it for far longer than she needed to, letting the stinging hot water beat against her and closing her eyes. If she focused on the feeling of it, the slight sting of the heat, the way it beaded and ran against her skin, it quieted all of the other horrible things running through her head for a minute.</p>
<p>And when she fell into the bed after checking the locks on the door not one but three times, sleep came surprisingly easily.</p>
<hr/>
<p>His greeting was warm under the buzzing streetlamp. He pulled her close and it took her a second to realize that he was not, in fact, hugging her but instead checking for the lump of a weapon under her clothing.</p>
<p>"Do you have a phone?" he murmured in her ear, his hand brushing against the outline of it in the pocket of her jeans.</p>
<p>"Yeah," she answered softly.</p>
<p>He pulled back and framed her face with his hands, tilting her face up toward the light. "I'm so happy you came," he said, the words loud enough to be overheard but quiet enough to sound like normal conversation. "I wasn't sure that you would."</p>
<p>All she could do was blink at him. Erik wasn't a bad liar, not like she was, and it was hard to tell whether the words were true or not. She hadn't honestly thought there was an option outside of coming like she was told to.</p>
<p>With a contented sigh, he let his hands fall away from her face. "Our table should about be ready. Are you hungry?"</p>
<p>"Starving," she answered honestly.</p>
<p>His smile told her that he was pleased with her answer, and when his pinky brushed against the back of her hand she let him take it, suddenly realizing how much smaller than him she was. Her hand practically vanished in his.</p>
<p>He wouldn't have had to rely on a gun to kill her, and the fact that the thought exhilarated her instead of sparking her fear caused her more distress than she cared to admit to herself.</p>
<p>Their table was ready and waiting for them and to Christine's relief, it wasn't as awkward as she feared it would be. He held her hand on top of the table and asked her easy questions that she could afford the luxury of answering honestly and if she was honest, it felt like just another date. Somehow, it felt even more easy than any date she had ever been.</p>
<p>For better or worse they were stuck with each other for the time being, and something about knowing that set her strangely at ease.</p>
<p>Or, it did, at least, until after the food was gone, after the bill was paid, after they were just a bit too far away from the yellow light of the streetlamps.</p>
<p>"I need your phone, Christine," he said softly, pausing on the sidewalk. "Please don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."</p>
<p>She frowned but she fished her phone out of her pocket anyway, handing it over to him.</p>
<p>It took him a minute to get the case off and then he was popping the little card tray out and pulling the sim card. "No one needs to follow you with this," he halfway explained, dropping the card to the sidewalk and grinding it under the tip of his polished shoe. "A cell phone is as good as a tracking device. You can't bring one around anymore."</p>
<p>She watched, half in horror, as he bent the device between his hands and the screen splintered and cracked. "My dad bought that for me," she whispered, knowing how stupid it was to get emotional over a cell phone when she found herself in such an other worldly situation. "The Christmas before he died..."</p>
<p>The body of the cell phone was tossed unceremoniously into an open dumpster just down the alleyway. "Do you have any living family?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>His touch was gentle as he coaxed her down the sidewalk. "At the risk of sounding completely heartless, that's a good thing," he said softly. "Do you have many close friends?"</p>
<p>She shook her head and his hand slid along her shoulders in a gesture that could have almost been considered comforting.</p>
<p>"Don't make any," he murmured. "I can only offer advice but keeping anyone close is a bad idea."</p>
<p>"That phone was one of the last things I had," she whispered, almost irritated with the emotion she heard in her own voice.</p>
<p>He sighed and let his hand slide across her back, pulling her close against his side. "Burn the rest," he said slowly. "It sounds horrible. I know it does. But no one can take your memories from you. Keep them and lose the rest. It will only weigh you down."</p>
<p>"God, what have I done?" she breathed, turning her face in slightly against his chest, hoping that he couldn't see the shine of the tears she felt gathering. "Why didn't you just kill me?"</p>
<p>He was quiet for a long moment, just coaxing her along in the still darkness.</p>
<p>"Erik?" she whispered when they came to a stop and he produced his house keys with a flourish. "Why didn't you kill me?"</p>
<p>"I couldn't do it," he said, his voice low as he jiggled the door handle and finally pushed it open. "That's why."</p>
<p>She followed him over the threshold, into the familiar little house with hardly any furniture, with it's empty white walls and dark floors. "Why couldn't you?"</p>
<p>"I don't know," he admitted, locking the door behind them.</p>
<p>"Because you want to fuck me?"</p>
<p>His laugh was nearly sarcastic. "That's never stopped me before," he answered.</p>
<p>Christine frowned, wrapping her arms around herself. "You have to have some reason."</p>
<p>"You couldn't do it either," he pointed out softly. "Maybe that has something to do with it."</p>
<p>"I could," she argued, knowing that she was bluffing. "You caught me off guard."</p>
<p>He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You think so?"</p>
<p>"I know so," she said, lifting her chin defiantly.</p>
<p>He took slow steps toward her and she was careful not to take a step back, not to play into the intimidation he was attempting. He stopped just in front of her, lifting the edge of his shirt and producing the same gun he had forced into her hands the night before. "It is loaded this time," he said thoughtfully, holding it between them and pointing the barrel at the floor. "It has a good kick to it and the slide can pinch. Try not to hurt yourself, Christine."</p>
<p>She swallowed, staring up at him in silence. The gun was loaded and even though she was trying to convince herself to at the very least take it from his hand, she couldn't even bring herself to reach for it.</p>
<p>"Give me the dagger," he said after a long moment.</p>
<p>She held her breath as she reached for it, producing it from her bra and holding it out to him with an open palm.</p>
<p>He slid the gun back into its holster and took the dagger from her gently. "You can't do it," he said softly. "And that is incredibly endearing to me."</p>
<p>"Because I can't kill?"</p>
<p>"Because you're normal," he corrected her. "Because you're a bit too kind and in way over your head and I might just feel a little obligated to help you out considering I'm the entire reason you're in this mess."</p>
<p>Christine frowned, looking down at the collar of his shirt. "You think you are?"</p>
<p>"I know that I am," he answered slowly. "You were hand-picked for me, Christine. Sweet and kind, a little sad, the music, your voice... you were picked because you're everything I've ever wanted. It's entirely my fault that you're here and entirely mine that I'm probably falling into the exact trap they set. You were meant to be my surrender. And you are. You will be. I can't do it."</p>
<p>She swallowed and when he tilted her chin up with two fingers, she gave no resistance to it, her eyes slipping closed as his lips met hers.</p>
<p>Christine thought that she still might enjoy his kisses a little too much, and she didn't even have alcohol to blame it on. It came too easily; the way she wrapped her arms around his neck and let her head fall to the side as his lips skimmed along her jaw, behind her ear, it was all that she could focus on when his free hand found her hip, when she heard the metallic clatter of the dagger against the floor. She made a breathless sound as she felt the warm press of his tongue skimming along her sensitive skin and when she pressed herself against him, one of his hands found the small of her back and held her there firmly.</p>
<p>The way that he tugged her hair was unexpected and it pulled her out of it a bit as her head jerked back. "Ow," she complained.</p>
<p>He pulled back and his smile was sheepish as both of his hands carded through her hair, tilting her head back so that she was forced to look up at him. "Sorry," he said softly. "I thought it was a wig."</p>
<p>"Does it look that bad?" she asked, frowning.</p>
<p>"No," he answered. "The opposite, actually. I've never seen natural curls quite so perfect. And the color - it's such a pretty blonde."</p>
<p>"I was already gonna sleep with you," she mumbled, feeling her cheeks burn.</p>
<p>His thumbs brushed gently against her temples. "Why?"</p>
<p>"Why not?" she argued. "I'm trying really hard not to ask that anymore."</p>
<p>"Truce," he said softly. "At least for tonight. Can we agree?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," she whispered, staring straight into his serious eyes. "Truce."</p>
<p>When his next kiss came she surrendered to it easily; her hands pressed against his sturdy chest, she moaned breathily against the warm press of his palms on her waist and when he tugged her forward and she almost tripped, she wasn't even embarrassed by it.</p>
<p>Hands and lips, teeth and tongue, she fell into him easily. When he kissed her and her heart began to race it only reminded her that they were both nothing more than human, nothing more than bone and skin and tendon.</p>
<p>She wasn't sure how exactly she ended up in his bed and she certainly had no idea where her shirt or bra had gone, let alone her pants. All she was sure of was that she opened her legs for him easily, that the warm breath on her throat was what it meant to be a human.</p>
<p>She panted with him, she dug her nails too hard into the skin of his back and rolled her hips up to meet his, utterly desperate to hold onto the sudden peace she found in his touch and the slightly-painful stretch as he filled her and moved, in the instinctive touch and breath and kisses.</p>
<p>It was easy to exist in instinct.</p>
<p>But as all things did, that ended eventually too. Eventually her sweaty palms had to slide away from his slick skin, she had to let him roll away from her with his panting breath.</p>
<p>She had to remember the situation they were in and the gun that almost seemed to glimmer in the sliver of moonlight that somehow snuck in through the gaps in the thin shades that hung over the window.</p>
<p>"You'll have to move in."</p>
<p>The words were simple, spoken between heavy breaths. There was no romance or excitement, no question. It was a simple statement of fact. "I know," she answered, wiping at her brow with the back of her wrist while she stared up at the dark ceiling.</p>
<p>He was the first to move, leaning almost over top of her to look at her face. "Soon, Christine," he added. "I have never been a patient man. I would move quickly."</p>
<p>She frowned as she stared back up at him. "You would?" she whispered. "Or you want to?"</p>
<p>"Living life knowing it all has an expiration date does have a certain effect," he murmured.</p>
<p>Feeling almost compassionate, she brought her hand to his cheek. And then she froze, staring at her fingers.</p>
<p>It was nearly cool to the touch. Despite the fact that she could feel heat nearly rolling off of him, his face was cool and as dry as could be.</p>
<p>He pulled her hand away, grasping her wrist, and he gave her half a shake of his head. "Not tonight," he said softly.</p>
<p>"Your face-"</p>
<p>"I don't know how you knew what you were looking for," he said, his voice low. "Not tonight, Christine."</p>
<p>When she finally found herself pulled into his arms, found her cheek pressed against his naked and warm chest, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know tomorrow, either.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She felt like an idiot, tugging the brim of the hat she wore up for the sixth time. "This doesn't even fit," she complained.</p>
<p>Erik's eyes were warm when he glanced toward her, racking the shotgun he carried with one hand, bouncing it against his leg. "It's cute," he commented. "Indulge me, sweetheart. I'm on death row.''</p>
<p>For the first time, Christine rolled her eyes instead of feeling guilty. "That isn't gonna work forever," she huffed.</p>
<p>"I would hope not," he said seriously. "You will have to be the one to pull the trigger."</p>
<p>"Might be sooner than you want if you keep it up."</p>
<p>He frowned slightly. "Did I upset you last night?"</p>
<p>"No," she said honestly, crossing her arms. "It's just really fucking weird and I'm struggling a little bit."</p>
<p>"I'd be more concerned if you weren't," he said, holding the long gun out to her. "Hold this for a minute."</p>
<p>She took the gun as he asked, holding the barrel toward the ground as he made his way behind her and started to fiddle with the hat. "What are we doing anyway?"</p>
<p>"You're going to kill something today," he answered, tightening the hat. "Preferably something large, I'm afraid if you shoot a rabbit with that there won't be much left for dinner."</p>
<p>In another life, Christine might have gagged at that thought. Instead she just frowned. "I didn't know you really meant we were hunting," she said. The gun was heavy in her hand. While she practiced with her revolver and her little pink gun and found out that she was actually a pretty good shot, she had definitely never shot a long gun.</p>
<p>"You have to prove to yourself that you can do it," he answered, closing the strap on the hat and tugging gently at her ponytail. "I'm not saying they're equivalent but you have to start somewhere."</p>
<p>"I've never used a long gun..."</p>
<p>His hand was almost cold when it brushed against the back of her neck and Christine shivered. "Do you want some target practise first?" he offered slowly.</p>
<p>Christine simply shook her head.</p>
<p>"You'll do fine," he offered confidently, taking the gun back easily as he walked around her. "Just don't rest the butt against your shoulder or you'll have a nasty bruise... we have time for you to miss."</p>
<p>She frowned, following him as he led her deeper into the woods. "I didn't know you had a truck," she said, knowing that she absolutely would not miss.</p>
<p>"I don't," he chuckled, glancing back at her. "Do you think we would be walking everywhere if I had a car?"</p>
<p>"I like walking."</p>
<p>"Good thing," he commented. "We're going to be doing a lot of it, sweetheart."</p>
<p>Her cheeks flushed every time he used the affectionate nickname and she hated it. She hated it for a few reasons, but the biggest one was because she kind of liked it.</p>
<p>She found herself enjoying his company. He was interesting and a mystery, he was obviously dangerous and she couldn't tell if it was that she enjoyed him or if she simply enjoyed the adrenaline rush that came every time she thought about how dangerous it all was. Christine had never been reckless. Up until the last year of her life she had been walking the straight and narrow; she had trouble keeping friends in the past because she was too boring, too goody-two-shoes.</p>
<p>And look at her now.</p>
<p>Today she was going to shoot a deer, but sometime in the future it would have to be him instead and she wasn't sure if it was something she was going to be able to come to terms with. Not when he called her sweetheart and she enjoyed being around him, not when she knew his name and opened her legs for him and kissed him back.</p>
<p>So she tried not to think about it too much as they trekked through the woods in near silence. She tried to let her mind go blank when he handed the gun back to her. Everything smelled like mud and pine and instead of thinking about why they were doing what they were doing, she thought about asking him if he knew what kind of bird was making the pretty chirping that she could hear but couldn't find.</p>
<p>Her ears were ringing and it took her a second to realize why and what she had done. She still stared down the barrel of the gun she didn't really remember lifting and watched as the buck made a staggering attempt at a step before it fell over in the small field-like clearing.</p>
<p>"Should I shoot again?" she asked, nervous about the few steps it had taken and worried that it might be suffering.</p>
<p>"Jesus Christ, no," Erik said breathlessly, pushing the barrel of the gun toward the ground with his palm. "I'm not sure whether I should be terrified or impressed. Are you sure you're never hunted before?"</p>
<p>Christine frowned. "Never."</p>
<p>His free hand was gentle when it rested against the small of her back. "That was an incredibly good shot," he said slowly. "I don't think he even felt it. I didn't even see him until - let's go, sweetheart. You'll have to help me with him."</p>
<p>Christine followed him across the field, holding the gun nervously at her side as they trekked toward the still deer. Half of her was waiting for it to spring back up and take off across the field, but it didn't happen. She didn't even see the blood until they were practically next to it and once she saw it, she couldn't look away, staring at the gaping, gnarly wound to the animal's temple.</p>
<p>"It was a clean kill," Erik said, the words almost sounding like praise. "I really don't think he felt anything at all... eight points. That's all very impressive, Christine."</p>
<p>"I did that," she breathed, still staring at the wound.</p>
<p>"You did," he confirmed easily. "And impressively. You didn't even hesitate."</p>
<p>"I can't believe I killed it."</p>
<p>His hand felt incredibly heavy on her arm. "Don't freeze up on me now," he said softly. "You eat meat. I've watched you do it. This is far more humane than the meat you find on the grocery shelves."</p>
<p>She swallowed thickly and he rubbed her arm reassuringly.</p>
<p>"I need your help carrying it to the truck."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Christine stared at the deer, hung upside down in some ghastly display over the cement floor of his garage, holding her dagger nervously in her hand. "You want me to do what?"</p>
<p>"Skin it," he chuckled. "Come on, Christine. This is nowhere near as horrific as you seem convinced it is... imagine how you'll feel when it's me that you have to shoot."</p>
<p>"I'll vomit."</p>
<p>"That's fine," he answered easily. "Just aim away from the deer."</p>
<p>"Erik, it's still warm," she argued, pressing her palm against the animal's chest. "I can't do this."</p>
<p>"You shot it just fine," he pointed out, pausing. "It's the circle of life, sweetheart. The deer dies to feed us and when we die we'll feed something else... it can be a beautiful thing if you look at it from the right angle."</p>
<p>She ran her thumb nervously along the hilt of the pretty dagger, biting the inside of her lip. "What if I do it wrong?"</p>
<p>His hand was gentle when it ran down her arm, covering hers on the dagger. His chest pressed against her back and he was forcing her forward, closer to the animal. Slowly, he lifted her hand with his. "On the count of three, okay?" he said softly, waiting for her to nod. "One... two..."</p>
<p>The blade slid incredibly easily and she couldn't think about anything except for the fact that he must've sharpened it for her.</p>
<p>"It's not so bad, is it?" he murmured, guiding her hand.</p>
<p>"No," she admitted quietly. "I still don't like it."</p>
<p>"I don't either," he answered, his words sounding truly honest. "It's still good to know how to process it... God knows hunting saved my life a time or two. You don't have to like it to need it."</p>
<p>"I don't think I'm gonna be hungry after this," she said, staring at the red-tinted blade of her dagger.</p>
<p>"Then it's dinner for tomorrow," he said easily. "I'm going to help you, sweetheart. The next cut goes right there."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She nearly sobbed in relief at the empty metallic clicking sound the gun made when she tried to pull the trigger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Erik didn't even open his eyes. He just reached blindly for the barrel of the cold gun pressed to his chest, twisting it out of her loose grasp and tossing it flippantly over the right side of the bed without seeming to miss a beat. "I'm sleeping, not an idiot," he mumbled, his voice laced with sleep and groggy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christine wasn't sure what the sound she made was but he seemed like he was. He pulled her back down to him by her wrist, wrapping an arm around her back and burying his lips against her temple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I won't let your first kill be a cowardly one," he said, almost sounding reassuring. "I wouldn't be holding up my end of the deal if I did, would I?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her laugh was an empty, breathless thing closer to a groan. "I'm sorry," she breathed. "I thought if I didn't think about it and just-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The idea was right," he said softly. "The execution was wrong. I have to be able to trust you enough to sleep or you really won't like me, Christine."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Truce," she breathed, the word a hollow joke. "While we sleep."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm in," he laughed gently, his hand sliding down the slope of her back and resting just on the small of it. "You're very pretty," he murmured. "Even when you're trying to kill me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn't until she peeked up at him that she realized he was actually looking at her. She felt the warmth in her cheeks that she still couldn't figure out how to hide. "This is weird," she said softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"For you, maybe," he said, head falling back against the pillow. "You'll get used to it with some time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lifted herself up so that she could look at the face that she was pretty sure wasn't actually his face. "Have you ever killed someone you were sleeping with?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He captured one of her loose curls between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it gently until the ringlette stood straight. "On occasion, what's necessary can't be avoided," he said in a half-answer. "Sex is a need like any other, not a reason to compound your guilt."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't think most people look at sex like that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His smile was amused and it was pretty obvious that he had tried to stop it and lost. "You're probably right," he conceded. "I think I look at a lot of things in a different way than most people."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I just think it's messed up is all," she mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He released her curl and watched as it sprang back into its natural shape. "Then just wait until you have to kill someone that doesn't actually want to die."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowned, staring at him while he stared fixedly at her chin as though it were far more interesting than any other feature. "Do you actually want to die?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're doing me a favor in more ways than one," he said vaguely. "I never considered myself a coward until I couldn't pull the trigger on myself... you don't have anything to feel guilty for concerning me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked him over, </span>
  <span>the serious set of his lips and his eyes still trained on her chin. "If that's true then why did you stop me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, his eyes met hers again. "Habit," he answered easily. "Maybe even instinct. It's not a particularly natural thing, I don't think."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What if I just walked away tomorrow?" she asked softly. "Just disappeared and didn't hold up my half. Would I have to feel guilty for that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, I would," he answered slowly. "There are at least seven people that know we've met... if you walk away you're signing your own suicide note. There is no disappearing, Christine. I've tried for a decade now and look where it's gotten me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't want to die," she observed, looking at him carefully. "You just want out."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They're the same thing in essence," he said, offering no argument to her assertion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she kissed him, she wasn't really sure what she was trying to accomplish. She had never had anyone admit to being suicidal to her before, even in the vague and incredibly passive way that he did, and it just seemed like the thing to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to die, she didn't want to kill him, and instead all she could do was kiss him. It wasn't like she could offer him some sudden solution when she didn't even know what she was tangled up in herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thought she might be able to understand why he looked at sex the way he did, especially when she was with him. There was something in the simplicity of skin on skin, of touch and feeling and the moments of simply being, that felt almost as necessary as breathing. The moments of quiet and of allowing herself to simply exist along with him were addictive in a way that she wasn't particularly used to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she shifted and lifted herself atop him, he made no movement to stop or slow her, seemingly content with allowing her whatever control she wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christine wasn't a prude. She had had a handful of partners, switching just a bit more often after her father passed away, when she was simply desperate to fill the quiet in her tiny, empty apartment, but none of them had ever made her feel quite like Erik did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn't that he did anything particularly extraordinary. The mechanics of it all were just the same as they would be with someone else. It wasn't his actions and all she was left with was that it must be him himself. There was something about him that drew her in dangerously, that was just a little too easy to exist alongside. She had never felt so absolutely natural with anyone before and she was pretty sure she never would again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it was over and she let herself fall into his chest, breathless, he was incredibly warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you still want to die?" she breathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers trailed against her sweat-slick back thoughtfully. "Right now or in general?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll take right now," she answered, turning her cheek against his chest and watching the slow movement of his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Right now I would happily live a thousand years," he answered eventually, shifting under her. "Unfortunately it seems that's just as impossible."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She relaxed against him, her hand pushing through the sparse hair on his chest as she thought. "Will you tell me about your face?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand paused against her back and his thumb brushed back and forth, back and forth gently. "No," he said eventually, the word soft but final. "It's time for breakfast. When you come back, I want you to bring most of your things with you. Leave a few pieces behind. You'll be checking out in a few days but it's still just a little too early. Have you thought of the cover story you would give me to excuse living in a hotel yet?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christine frowned. She hated the way that he did it, waving off every minor discomfort by diving headlong into the reality she had been trying to let both of them escape, even if it was only for a moment. "I haven't thought of it," she answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Give it some thought," he instructed, beginning to slide away from her. "Don't over complicate it. Whatever you come up with is your new reality and you need to be able to retell it consistently."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
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</p>
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